The doors to the arena swung open, revealing a small girl stepping into view.
When she first appeared in the arena, the audience had looked at her with skepticism. They all seed to think, How strong could such a tiny girl possibly be?
But Lucy Allen had shattered that doubt, proving her strength. With countless victories, she demonstrated that she was soone worthy of respect.
Now, as the crowd watched Lucy, their gaze was filled with admiration for her martial prowess. They believed she wouldn’t easily fall, even against a formidable opponent.
"Go get ‘em, foul-mouthed angel! Show that Hunter what you’re made of!" "Nothing, not even a beast, could break your shield!" "Angel! I’m betting it all on you! Show us sothing amazing!" "Fight on! You can do it!"
Among the cheers filling the arena, however, Benedict’s expression was as grim as ever.
Anyone who knew him might find this strange. Benedict, who never held back in showing his fatherly affection to the point of making others cringe, was now frowning as he watched Lucy rather than cheering her on.
“Aren’t you going to cheer for her this ti, Sir Allen?” asked Count Bardronel, noticing Benedict’s unusual expression. Benedict forced an awkward smile.
“Of course. How could I not cheer for my adorable daughter?”
“I understand, but your face just didn’t look all that... enthused.”
“…It’s just that I’m worried, is all.”
Benedict didn’t doubt Lucy’s talent.
Even without his fatherly bias, she was undeniably a prodigy. Otherwise, a girl who once struggled to climb the stairs wouldn’t have gained a reputation as one of the kingdom’s top talents in little over a year.
At the sa ti, Benedict trusted in her skill.
Lucy had beco so skilled that, even without her na, she could easily pass the entry tests for the Allen Knight Order. Benedict’s usual fussing was only due to his concern as her loving father, not a lack of faith in her abilities as a warrior.
But this ti, the opponent was different.
Lasha.
The madwoman who road the continent, challenging renowned strongn to fight, surviving battle after battle.
Among the many powerful fighters Benedict had faced, she was one who left a lasting impression.
She hadn’t weakened with ti—in fact, she’d grown stronger. She was simply beyond what Lucy could handle right now.
“Haha, don’t worry, Sir Allen. You’ve seen it yourself: Lady Lasha knows her limits. She wouldn’t leave a permanent scar on your daughter.”
Benedict could not bring himself to nod in agreent at Count Bardronel’s reassurances.
He knew it, too. He had clashed fists with Lasha in the past; he knew her nature well.
Lasha wasn’t one who enjoyed shedding blood for its own sake; she simply loved fighting. But conversely, if it ant a good fight, she would spill as much blood as necessary.
This knowledge only deepened Benedict’s worries.
Lasha would hurt Lucy just to drag into a fight.
If she pulls any sudden moves, will I be able to stop her in ti? Can I stop Lasha before Lucy is put in danger?
Just as these worries weighed heavily on him, Lucy’s opponent stepped into the arena.
Lasha.
Many words could be used to describe her.
“The Weakness Maker!”
She earned this nickna by defeating anyone acknowledged as strong, turning them into a relative weakling.
“The Festival Crusher!”
Unconcerned with the situation around her, she would charge headfirst at the strong, often creating utter chaos—thus her infamous title.
“The Humility Bringer!” “The Fight Junkie!” “The Crazy Woman!” “Hey, that last one’s just an insult!”
Amidst the endless chants, Lasha raised her voice, and laughter erupted throughout the crowd.
Then, when soone finally shouted out the title that best defined her, the atmosphere shifted.
“The Hunter of the Strong!”
This phrase encapsulated her very existence and her philosophy of life.
“The Hunter of the Strong!” “The Hunter of the Strong!” “The Hunter of the Strong!”
Walking to the center of the arena amid the audience’s chants, Lasha t Lucy’s piercing gaze and let out a grin, lifting one leg high.
Boom!
As she stomped down, the ground groaned in agony, unable to withstand the impact.
“Weaklings, shut uuuup!”
Her roar drowned out every voice in the arena, silencing the crowd one by one.
Once a deep silence had settled, Lasha flashed a grin and turned her gaze toward Benedict.
“Hey, Benedict! I’ve got a proposal!”
“You don’t have to yell so loud; I can hear you perfectly well if you just speak normally.”
“Well, here’s the thing—I was thinking about this last night!”
Completely ignoring his irritation, Lasha continued as if only her words mattered.
“Your daughter and I fighting is just going to end up one-sided! Where’s the fun in that?”
“What’s your point?”
“One minute! If your daughter can hold out against for one minute, she wins! But if she loses, then you’ll have to fight !”
A bold proposal, one she could only make with full confidence in her overwhelming strength.
Though Benedict frowned at his daughter being underestimated, part of him found this offer appealing.
Not only did it give Lucy a glimr of hope where she’d otherwise have none, but it also reassured him that Lasha wouldn’t harm Lucy just to lure him out.
So, logically, he had no reason to refuse.
“You won’t harm Lucy, then?”
“Nah, what’s the point of that? I don’t make a habit of stomping out sprouts.”
“Then I don’t have any objections.”
In the end, it was Lucy’s choice whether or not to accept this proposal—she was the one at stake here.
Seeing Benedict’s silence, Lasha bead and turned her gaze toward Lucy.
“Hey, Benedict’s daughter! What do you say? This is better than having no options at all, right?”
Lasha was sure Lucy wouldn’t refuse.
Despite her fierce appearance, Lucy Allen was highly calculating.
The eyes of a predator who watches from behind a shield, studying her opponent, weren’t those of a brute acting on impulse.
Just look at her now. Rather than answering right away, she was coldly weighing the pros and cons.
“What, you don’t think you can last a minute? I thought you were gutsy, but maybe you’re just a coward after all?”
At this, a glint of defiance sparked in Lucy’s eyes.
“…I’ll take your stupid offer, you muscle-headed pig♡.”
Yes, that’s the spirit. The young should have this level of fire in them.
“Just don’t go crying when you lose♡—that would be embarrassing, don’t you think?♡”
“Haha! You sound confident. Do you think you can actually beat ?”
“Why ask sothing so obvious?♡ I’m not dumb enough to get bitten by a mindless beast♡. Though I get that thinking isn’t your strong suit, seeing as even your brain’s packed with muscle, Muscle Pig♡.”
Lasha held back her laughter, suppressing the rising exhilaration.
She’d heard rumors of Lucy’s filthy mouth, but this was sothing else entirely.
Each word she spat seed crafted to ignite anger, practically a curse in itself.
She must have so gift for playing with people’s emotions.
Interesting. Very interesting.
“Let’s see if your skills match that smug voice of yours.”
Let’s see just how threatening this kid—whom even my cursed god insists must be killed—truly is, and what potential she might hold.
The old man let out a chuckle, noting the heightened ferocity in Lasha’s gaze.
It is risky, I know.
If Lasha snapped and tried to kill , that would be a big problem.
But if I want to win, I have to take so risks, right?
The reason I provoked her, despite the danger, was that I trusted her.
Lasha had told I was soone with great potential, a talent yet to fully bloom, and that she didn’t intend to crush before I’d grown.
She’d promised Benedict not to harm .
I trusted that this madwoman, this insane warrior who treated her god as a re tool, wouldn’t strike to kill. That any hesitation, however small, would buy a few crucial seconds in that one-minute tir.
Of course, that wasn’t my only reason, but it wasn’t sothing the old man would understand even if I explained.
No, not really.
It’s true that there’s a quest, but it’s not like I have to clear it.
Even if I fail, I can always pray to the pathetic god who assigned it. I might miss having the status screen, but it’s not essential.
Because it’s the best option I have.
To increase my chances, I have to get under my opponent’s skin. That’s the decision I made, and that’s why I provoked her.
The old man sighed, his voice tinged with resignation.
What? Where did that co from?
Isn’t it better to go all out and fight with everything I have, rather than losing passively? I’m just doing my best—why does that make crazy?
Oh, that’s simple. My dad will handle it.
I shrugged, feeling assured. With Benedict’s watchful gaze fixed on the arena, there was no way I’d die here, right? The old man sighed again, deliberately for to hear.
Of course I have a plan.
Ignoring the old man’s grumbling, I focused on casting several buffs. Anything else would only make him complain more.
Once I was fully prepared, Lasha stretched with a satisfied grin.
“Ready yet, kid?”
“You can see that for yourself♡—or are your optic nerves full of muscle too?♡”
“Haha, I guess I’ll have to shut that mouth of yours first.”
As Lasha waved her arms and I raised my shield, I felt her intensity.
Driven, ready to enjoy the fight but with a tendency to open strong.
Based on everything I knew, her first attack would be one I recognized all too well.
“Here I co. Try to withstand it.”
As expected.
Smiling slightly at having predicted her move, I moved my shield in sync with the instincts engraved in my soul.
Hoping the Lasha beyond this screen would stay strong for a long ti.
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